


Who the fuck wants to die alone?

by icantwrite1832



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M, Sad Ending, Teenagers, alternate universe- ww1, slow burn but not really, title is taken from that one Fun. song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25840198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwrite1832/pseuds/icantwrite1832
Summary: It's based on that one cartoon, that's based on the person's text to her sister about Animal Crossing.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Who the fuck wants to die alone?

If you’d have asked Grantaire if he was going to sign up to join the fight against Germany, he would have said no. He was only just of age when the war had started, and he’d watched his friends sign up one by one, leaving their friends and family behind forever, and he didn’t want to be a part of that. 

Also, he really liked being the one to not follow everyone else. He claimed to be a conscientious objector, and spent his days volunteering at the hospital, or where else they needed hands. He wasn’t against the war. He just didn’t fancy dying just yet. 

That was until 1915. One year into the war, and things weren’t looking good. Nobody had gained anything, and Grantaire had heard from letters that the conditions were terrible; muddy, cold, wet. Everything that Grantaire had hated, but something in him said that he needed to go and help. Perhaps it was his father, who was too old and frail to go to war himself, constantly nagging him and pointing to the signing up station every time they passed it. 

When he told his family that he’d signed up, the reaction was mixed. For the first time, his father was proud of him for doing what was right and helping to protect France. His mother was worried, really worried. Her friends’ sons had died, and she didn’t want that to happen to her only son, he pride and joy. Grantaire had scoffed at that, 

“Mother, we all know Marie’s your pride and joy.” Grantaire chuckled, gently nudging his younger sister. 

There were 7 years between him and his sister, but they were as close as twins. Whatever Grantaire did, Marie followed. When Grantaire volunteered at the hospital, Marie wanted to as well, but Grantaire had to explain that it was dangerous and she was safer at home. She understood. 

On the night before Grantaire was leaving, Marie had climbed into his bed- something that she hadn’t done since she was really young. 

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave either, but it’s what I have to do.”

“Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise.” He’d mumbled, half asleep. The chances of him keeping that promise, however, were slim. 

So, here he was, currently leaning his back against the dug out earth in the reserve trench. He’d been there two weeks and still hadn’t gotten over the top just yet. He was classing that as a blessing. 

He’d made friends with two people in his regiment. Their names were Bahorel and Feuilly. They shared their cigarettes with Grantaire, and their food. Bahorel was built like Grantaire- tall and stocky with muscle, so he’d understood how Grantaire felt when the food they were given wasn’t enough to fill him up. 

He was going back to the support trench for his duty for the next week, when someone banged into him at full speed. 

“Watch where you’re going, asshat.” He says, turning round to look at him. 

The stranger’s glare was directed at Grantaire, and even through all of the dirt, R was immediately struck by the stranger’s beauty. There was no way that someone with that amount of beauty should be here. This was a place for people who didn’t have a chance at life, either way, and this person, with their blond hair and angelic features, had more than just a chance at life. 

“It’s your fault.” The stranger says cooly. Looking Grantaire directly in the eyes with their piercing blue eyes. 

“Why? Are you incapable of seeing or something?”

“No.”

“Then it’s your fault.” 

The blond had opened his mouth to make a remark, but someone stopped him. 

“Enjolras! Hurry up, the cigarette will be out before you get here.”

Grantaire watched the stranger- Enjolras- leave, before turning around to go back to where he was positioned.

The next time Grantaire saw Enjolras, they were both off duty, and were in the reserve trench. Grantaire was complaining about how he couldn’t feel his fingers because of the cold to Feuilly, when Enjolras came up behind Feuilly. 

“You.” He says, looking at Grantaire. 

“Don’t tell me you’re still not over you banging into me? We’re fighting a war here.” Grantaire smirks, tying the sandbag off that he’d just filled. 

“You banged into me!”

Grantaire shakes his head, and goes back to where he’d put his kit. It was in the sun to try and dry it off. It had rained the day before, and everything had gotten soaked. 

It was three weeks since he and Enjolras had seen each other, when the blond had appeared next to Grantaire at the support trench. Grantaire looked over at him, but didn’t say anything. He was currently writing a letter to his sister, and really didn’t want to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary. 

“Have you finally admitted to yourself that you were in the wrong, Grantaire?” He asks, lighting up a cigarette. Grantaire looks up at him when he hears his name, Feuilly must have told him.

“No, I haven’t, Enjolras. Because I wasn’t.” He murmurs, going back to writing. The handwriting was messy, and most of the words were misspelt but Marie would understand. 

“You’ve spelt Ypres wrong.” Enjolras murmurs, and Grantaire looks up at him. “It’s Y-p-r-”

“I don’t care?” Grantaire says, “Stop reading over my shoulder.”

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras says, though sits next to Grantaire.

“You’re as annoying as her.” Grantaire mumbles. 

“Who?”

“My sister, Marie. She’s ten, but acts like she’s thirty. She also can’t ever admit she’s wrong, like you.”

Enjolras chuckles slightly, “I have a twin sister, but she’s older by two minutes.” He says, “That gets annoying, and you never hear the end of it.” 

“I could imagine. What part of France are you from then?” He says, finishing his letter off, and folding it up.

“Paris. You?” 

“Small town just on the outskirts of Normandy.”

“That sounds nice, better than Paris anyway. It’s always busy there and life never stops.”

“It’s nice. Simple, though. You don’t leave, and no one new comes in. If your dads a baker, you’re a baker. If your mums a teacher, you’re a teacher sort of thing, you know?”

“So was your dad a soldier?”

“No but he had dreams of being one. They were passed onto me. I didn’t actually want to sign up.” 

“Why not?”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people.” He groans, resting his head against the makeshift wall. 

“Who? What?”

“Those who have dreams of dying like a martyr for King and Country sort of thing.” He’d stolen that phrase off one of the English soldiers who’d walked through their part of the trenches. 

“Yeah I am. Well, maybe not for King. But definitely for the country.”

Grantaire groans again, and looks at him. “Give me a cigarette and I’ll forget you ever said that.”

Enjolras frowns, “What’s wrong with being patriotic?” He asks, though hands Grantaire a cigarette. 

“It’s weird. And embarrassing to listen to.” 

“Shut up.”

“Okay, sorry.” He holds his hands up and takes a drag of the cigarette. 

“You’re not too bad, you know?” Enjolras says, shifting closer to Grantaire. Grantaire would have backed away, but it’s what they all did at night. The cold was harsh on everyone, especially those like Enjolras, who didn’t have a lot of meat/fat on his bones. Grantaire tilts his knees towards Enjolras, and wraps his arms around himself. 

“I know I’m not.” He says, and feels a prod in his arm. He smiles slightly, “Yeah, you’re not too bad either.” 

It wasn’t until November that Enjolras and Grantaire actually became close friends. Neither of them had gone over the top just yet, and both of them classed that as a blessing. If Grantaire went to the reserve trench, Enjolras followed, and vice versa. Bahorel and Feuilly teased Grantaire about it, and Enjolras’ friends teased Enjolras about it. Grantaire learnt later on that their names were Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Together, they’d ended up forming a group of friends. Les Amis was what they were called by the other soldiers. Grantaire had rolled his eyes because it seemed that every soldier lacked the creativity to come up with a good name. 

Although they were close, Enjolras and Grantaire fought nearly all of the time, over everything and anything. Grantaire was cold? He should feel lucky because at least he didn’t have trench foot. Enjolras was missing home? Well at least people at his home could read his letters. The rest of the group found it amusing, watching them two bicker ‘like an old married couple’ Courfeyrac had said cheerfully. 

Little did he know, that’s what Grantaire and Enjolras were becoming. 

It had happened one night, when the wind was howling, and the rain showed no signs of stopping. Grantaire had taken his jacket off, to wrap over both him and Enjolras. Their knees were pressed together, and Enjolras’ head was leant on Grantaire’s shoulder. 

“R, you’re going to freeze to death.” Enjolras had murmured. 

“I’m fine, it’s nothing that I haven’t dealt with before.” 

Grantaire knew that this was going to spiral into an argument if he didn’t stop it now. He looked around to make sure that no one was around, and that those who were there were asleep. As soon as Enjolras opened his mouth to say something, Grantaire had placed his lips on Enjolras’ and kissed him softly. 

Enjolras had shut up pretty quickly after that. His arm had wrapped around Grantaire’s waist, and he’d kissed Grantaire again. 

This continued until the next year, where they celebrated their one year anniversary by filling up sandbags and watching each and every one of their friends die in the Battle of the Somme. It was a miserable time, but at least they still had each other. 

“Enj?” Grantaire calls out, looking over at where he’d taken a rest. 

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been called to the front line.”

“So have I.” Enjolras says, looking at him, with a slight smile on his face. They knew what was coming, though it was unspoken. 

Grantaire grabs his kit, and Enjolras’ hand, walking to the front line together. If this was the end, at least they had each other. 

It was two days before they were told to go over the top. Grantaire spent those two days writing one last letter to his family. He handed it to the General, along with all of his other valuables, when they were getting ready.

“You’ve got to make sure that gets to them.”

“I will.” 

“No, you’ve got to promise. It’s important.”

“Okay, fine. Now get ready.” 

And away they went, over the top, across the barbed wire, and into the swamp of mud and dead bodies. 

Grantaire was doing as good as he could be. He hadn’t been shot, so it was okay. Until he felt a piercing pain go through the right of his stomach. And everything stopped. He fell to his knees, and everything had gone black. He could feel someone holding his hand, and him being lifted onto the stretcher. 

He was taken immediately to the Casualty Clearing Station. He knew that by the sounds of the voices, and the nurses. The voices sounded like angels, and his mother. He missed her, as well as his father and his sister. He could feel someone’s hand squeezing his and he knew it was Enjolras. But why was he here and not fighting? He should have kept going, he’s going to be in so much trouble. 

Through his thoughts, he hears a voice. It must be a nurses voice. 

“Take him round the back.”

Grantaire coughs slightly, wheezing. He could feel the bullet lodged in his stomach, and it must be infected; he hadn’t showered in a while and it was dirty. 

He feels him being placed on the ground, and someone’s hands running through his hair.

“Enjolras?” He mumbles weakly, coughing again. 

“Shh, yeah, I’m here.”

“Good. It’d have been rude to leave me.” He grins, opening his eyes to look at Enjolras. 

“Yeah, I know.” Enjolras says, cupping his cheek. 

“Listen, you’ve got to write to my sister-” He says, taking a short breath and gulping, “She’ll be worried about me, don’t let her be worried. Tell her I’m fine. I’ve gone away, but I’m fine.”

“You’re not going to die, Grantaire.” Enjolras says, and R can feel him sobbing. 

“Get a grip on yourself, asshat, it’s my time to shine.” Grantaire mumbles, squeezing his hand. 

Enjolras laughs slightly, leaning down to kiss his forehead, as Grantaire’s body starts to shake. 

“Enjolras?” 

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” He looks up at Enjolras one last time, before his body goes limp. 

Enjolras smiles slightly, and wipes his eyes. “I love you too.” He whispers, seconds too late. He presses a kiss onto Grantaire’s lips, holding his hand, until the nurses pick up his body and take him away.

**Author's Note:**

> Peak narcissism is crying at your own work because you're a sensitive little bitch


End file.
